The Baby Scheme

He’d decided to start his fieldwork by paying a surprise visit to Dr. Joseph Abernathy, now retired as a gynecologist, to ask about his still-practicing partner, Dr. Randolph Graybar, and their involvement in the baby ring. He hoped to find out how the blackmailer might have gained access to information about adoptive families.

He circled the block, alert for any suspicious activity. Even in an apparently peaceable community, taking heed of details could mean the difference between life and death.

Kevin had no illusions about the potential for danger. Thanks to California’s stiff restrictions on concealed-gun permits, he was about to walk unarmed into a meeting with a man who might be either an innocent bystander or a blackmailing baby seller. He hadn’t even been able to arrange for backup. Although his agency was profitable enough to bring in a second detective, he’d had no luck finding anyone qualified.

As he made a second circuit of the block, a gray van passed him going the other way. The bright June sunlight showed two shapes in the front seat, but Kevin couldn’t make out any details.

He parked half a block beyond the house to avoid attracting attention. His midpriced white sedan contrasted with the expensive models around it, but at least he’d had the car washed and detailed.

When he got out, he could smell the ocean less than a mile away. He heard a dog barking and noted that it was too far off to pose a threat.

On the short walk to Abernathy’s house, a red sports car with a bent antenna and a back seat crammed with junk caught Kevin’s eye. He guessed it belonged to a kid home from college, although not the doctor’s. According to his bio on the Web, his two children had long ago reached adulthood.

The walkway that bisected Dr. Abernathy’s lawn ascended in a series of steps past flowering bushes to an entrance secluded beneath an arched cover. About to mount the porch, Kevin froze at the scraping sound of the latch opening. He’d come too close to duck out of sight. He’d have to brazen it out.

“I’m grateful to you for talking to me and I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way,” said a smoky female voice that stroked his sensibilities like black velvet. He’d heard the voice before. “I assure you, I have no intention of printing anything until I learn all the facts.”

Onto the porch emerged a willowy figure he had no trouble identifying even though he hadn’t seen her in several years. A breeze fanned her chestnut hair and, although she was glancing back at someone, he knew her eyes appeared slate-colored indoors but jade in sunlight.

Kevin’s mouth twisted at his foolishness. Alli Gardner had always irritated him with her refusal to lay off when he didn’t care to discuss a case. As far as he was concerned, her eyes might as well be mustard yellow.

Before he had time to wonder what brought her here, she stumbled into him. As his hands closed around her upper arms, he felt the pressure of her thigh against his and caught a flash of mirth on her generous mouth.

“Well, well,” said the reporter, “if it isn’t my favorite dick.”

Behind her in the doorway appeared a man in his seventies. “Who are you?’ he demanded.

“Kevin Vickers, private investigator.” Setting Alli firmly away from him, he dispensed one of his cards. “I’d appreciate a few words with you, Doctor.”

Abernathy’s frown deepened. “I’m not talking to you and I shouldn’t have talked to her. Whatever you think is going on, it doesn’t involve me.”

“I’m here on behalf of one of your former patients,” Kevin said. “I’m sure you’d be concerned if you knew…”

He halted, registering the sudden acceleration of an engine on the street. Before he could react on his instinctive sense of danger, a sharp crack! rang out.

“In!” Grabbing Alli, he pushed her and the doctor into the foyer and slammed the door. The last thing he observed was a gray van disappearing around the corner.

“Is somebody shooting at us? Nobody’s hurt, are they?” The reporter spared a glance at both men before adding, “That was amazing! Like something out of a movie!” Her face had the feverish look he’d seen on rookie cops whose adrenaline rush overwhelmed their common sense.

He’d been wrong about Alli, Kevin reflected. She wasn’t just a loudmouthed annoyance. She was a pain in the neck who would likely get killed.

“A car backfired,” the doctor said, although he sounded breathless. “I’m sure that’s all.”

Did he believe that or was he trying to avoid summoning the police? “Sir, it sounded like a gunshot to me,” Kevin replied.

“Serene Beach doesn’t have drive-by shootings,” the doctor insisted.

Kevin could hardly argue, since he didn’t intend to call the police. As for Alli, she stood observing the two of them as cheerily as if she were watching a sitcom.

He returned to his purpose for coming here. “Doctor, you may have information that could help one of your former patients, a woman who’s already suffered more than her share of tragedy.”

“As I said, I’m not interested in talking to you.” Sharply, the doctor added, “I don’t wish to be disturbed again, by anyone.”

This seemed like a strong reaction for a man convinced he’d only heard a car backfire, Kevin thought sardonically. “Suppose I told you that a child’s future depends on it?”

“Some people will say anything to get what they want.” The man regarded him stonily. “Both of you—out of here, now!”

Alli quirked an eyebrow without commenting. The doctor’s hostility didn’t faze her. It didn’t inspire her to move toward the door, either.

Kevin knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of her persistence. His sympathies lay with the doctor.

“Please keep my card.” He would have liked to mention his client’s name, but Alli’s presence dissuaded him. “Whoever fired that shot—and it was a shot—knows where you live. They could come back.”

“I’m not going to waste time worrying about someone with carburetor problems, and, unless you’re a mechanic, you shouldn’t, either.” The doctor opened the door, but, Kevin observed, he stayed clear of the gap. “Don’t bother me again. And that interview was off the record, young lady.”

“Too late to change your mind!” she sang out, and scurried away.

Kevin kept his voice low as he put in one last plea. “My client is a widow, she can’t afford to pay blackmail and she doesn’t want to lose her son. Think about it.” He followed Alli onto the porch.

As the latch clicked behind them, he noted a black-and-white cruising along the street, apparently on routine patrol. Even if the officer hadn’t received a report of gunfire, his presence made the shooter’s return unlikely.

Kevin surveyed the front of the house for a bullet hole and examined the ground for a casing, without success. He would have liked to retrieve some evidence, even if he couldn’t make immediate use of it, but either the bullet was buried somewhere or the shooter had fired a warning shot, trying to frighten rather than injure.

Regardless, he wondered how the assailant had found them and how far he—or they—would go to stop this investigation. Kevin hoped the doctor had been right about a car backfiring.

Alli waited for him on the walkway, her head cocked and one hand on her hip. A silky pantsuit skimmed her body. “Looks like we’re working the same case, Detective.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” As he moved past, she fell in beside him. Had he really expected her to give up that easily? Kevin mused.

“Illegal adoptions and blackmail. Sound familiar?” she asked.

“I’m looking for missing medical records,” he improvised. “They’re for a lawsuit against an insurance company.”

“Yeah, sure.” She paused beside the red sports car, then apparently thought better of it and kept pace with Kevin. “We ought to share what we know. It might help us both.”

“My work is confidential.” He clicked open his lock.

She produced a creased business card, crossed off the newspaper’s name and wrote a phone number on the back. “I’m freelancing these days. Here’s my cell number.”

He made no move to take the card. “What happened to your job?”

“It didn’t give me enough scope.” She proffered the card again. He ignored it.

“I’m about as likely to call you as Dr. Abernathy is to call me,” he told her.

Reaching past his jacket lapels, she tucked it into his shirt pocket. Through the fabric, her fingers left a warm imprint against his chest. “Exactly my point, Detective. I’ve got a half-hour taped interview with him, and that’s your best chance of hearing what he has to say. Think about it.”

With a wave, she headed to her car. Stopping beside it, she mouthed the words “Call me!” before slipping inside.